shivering hearts
by Amandaaaaaaaa
Summary: Although the prince is willing, Armin isn't. Frozen AU.


**Author's Note: This, my fellow readers, is what happens when I watch Frozen for a week straight. This idea popped up when I was in the middle of traffic, dangerously so. ****Anyway, this was supposed to be a Nathaniel/Armin romance-y fic, but it ended up differently. There are slight hints of whatever relationship they might have in this, but it's not really important. **

Disclaimer: Fortunately, I do not own My Candy Love. _Fortunately_.

* * *

><p>"Are you here to kill me?"<p>

Armin turns, follows the gossamer, spider-webbing cracks to the base of the stairs, and then looks up the curving stairway, tilting his head toward the prince's voice.

At length, the prince appears around a corner, making his way down the staircase. His head is cocked as he regards Armin, his eyes faraway and his fingers firmly curled into fists. "I prefer you answer now."

But Armin still doesn't respond, choosing to listen to the melodious creaking as the prince walks, the rhythmic sounds calming and at ease. Soon enough, he stands in complete view, a faded frown on his face.

"Forgive my lack of hospitality." The prince says, one hand on the end of the banister. "I rarely have guests. And the ones who survive the climb aim to kill me." He looks at Armin expectantly, one eyebrow raised. Armin swallows and straightens himself.

"I am ordered to guide you to a hearing where you will face the responsibilities of murder and treason," Armin recites finally from his memory of the little note he was given. The prince just blinks. "And if you resist, I've been commanded to kill you."

There is a short silence, sluggish and nerving, and then the prince laughs. It is mocking, an imitation of laughter, and he spins around, making his way back up the stairs.

"With all due respect, good sir," the prince begins, shaking his head, "you will have to kill me because unfortunately for you, I will never go back." He takes two steps and then pauses. "If you happen to see my family, tell them I'm sorry."

:

Armin hasn't been doing much, precious time of going back into the safe town wasted by the prince. The dark-haired male sits with a sharp-looking dagger set beside him, a steel case sitting in a sleek handle glistening under the lighting. Armin lets out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

He has wished for a life like this, the life he has seen through endless quantities of screens and games. But actually, in realism, this job (or so they say) is extremely uninteresting and it isn't even amusing. And that's why Armin hates reality.

(He hates a multiple amount of things too, but in this case, they don't count. For example, one was doing nothing on second steps created out of ice.)

He looks around at the slippery inside of the palace, gaze glancing over the subtle spun ice that forms the dense columns, following them up to the spacious ceiling. Sound echoes, carries, so he can hear each of his steps as he marches up the stairs.

Everything is cold and the air hangs heavy, freezing his lungs. Armin lets himself smirk as he touches the ice, fingertips skimming over the fractured but otherwise even walls, following geometric lines under every layer, fractals of breaking light caught in between.

Normally, Armin wouldn't do such a thing. He wouldn't touch a piece of snow if he had to, he wouldn't get up from his seat if the world was ending, and he wouldn't even bother to do any of the crazy things he was doing now. He wouldn't. But he was just that bored, and he has nothing to fail. He's wondering if the prince was creating newer steps from wherever he was, and if he was watching.

Armin climbs faster, admiring the way he is spinning higher and higher, breathing in thinner air.

At one point, though, his feet slip and he slides down at least ten steps before he grabs onto a railing that stands at the base of his death.

And then he falls.

:

"Idiot," the prince mutters loudly. He is half off the railing, straight blond locks falling into his eyes. His hand is drawn-out. "I should have known you were going to do something as foolish as this. Just hold still for a minute."

Armin clings to a pillar of ice and he sways back and forth unintentionally, earning him a scold from the other. Armin shuts his eyes before opening them, looking back at the blond. The pillar is cold against him, shooting out from the floor from where the prince had summoned it and poking him in the chest. He winces.

"How many times do I have to tell you to hold still?" The prince snaps, anger noticeable on his features. He slowly wraps his other hand around Armin's one, leaning in closer to the railing. "Wait…"

And then several more pillars appear and he lets go and goes out of sight, letting Armin fall onto a cushion of white, and all leading toward where the prince collapsed. Armin shudders before ascending each one carefully, pretending he was one of his characters in his game, climbing leisurely, slower than before.

He succeeds.

:

"Are you a witch?"

Armin asks that question right when the prince woke up. The boy is fascinated and slightly afraid, but very amazed and he just really wanted to know for once.

The prince gives him a bleary-eyed look before sitting down. Then he looks around, not conscious yet.

And then he talks, clearly dodging the question. "You're alive," he says. He pauses for a moment, and adds, "I should have let you die. Oh well." He looks away to the window with iced panes and squints. "Do what you will."

Armin is quiet, busying himself by twirling blond locks between his fingers. The prince looks surprised, but he also stays hushed, resting his head on the window.

They both sit in a relaxing silence before Armin hauls them both up, then asks, "Where is your room?"

:

The silence lasts as they walk down the hall, still calm and not-awkward. Armin respected that since it seemed like he was very good at making situations uncomfortable.

When they enter the room, the prince is welcomed by a plush little cat. The 'beast' purrs against his feet and Armin shifts (because he is disgusted, not because he is scared. No, seriously, he isn't scared.). The prince eyed him for a bit, looking slightly faraway. He then smiles, walking into the center of the icy room.

There's a roaring fireplace with orange and red bouncing flames. It rouses when Armin and the prince enter and then sits up completely when the prince holds out his hand.

"And where were you?" The prince teases the cat. The animal sits on his lap, cuddling into him.

"You don't have a bed." Armin says, looking around the empty room. There's just a fireplace and a doorway to the balcony.

(Armin wonders how there is a fireplace. Isn't this castle made of ice?)

"I don't think there is a need to take up so much space. Beds are worthless," the prince replies tonelessly. "Such amount of living freedom is very exclusive these days."

Armin doesn't look into the topic, although he isn't sure if that really was the reason. He moves in closer to the blond, poking his finger into the other's hair.

The prince is again quiet, but he points his finger into the air, motioning up. And when Armin finally gets the hint to look above him, he sees a thousand (or more) icicles sticking out from the ceiling. Armin calmly moves away from his spot, away from the points.

The prince is still smiling. "Anyway, I don't have any mattresses. I hope you weren't thinking about staying the night."

:

In the early hours of the morning, Armin is awakened by a declaration. "I think you should kill me now."

The words are slurred, frosty and emotionless, coated heavily with a layer of ice. Armin is surprised at the preparedness, he's surprised at the timing, and he is wondering why. No, he's wondering _how_. How could someone be so willing to die? The prince sits across from him, hands folded on his lap neatly and his eyes fixated on the floor.

"Why?" Armin speaks this time. His voice is slightly pitchy, higher than he wanted it to. "Aren't you a prince? If I were you, I would be happy."

The prince almost immediately snaps his head towards him, and he narrows his eyes, his cheeks flushed with anger. Armin swallows for the second time.

The blond gives a dry laugh before he opens his mouth. "You're funny. Of course, someone like you would think this is easy. Of course," he gives another chuckle. "I'd like to see you take my job for once. My duty is to take care of my town, my people, but I can't. You might ask, why is that, Nathaniel?"

Armin doesn't.

The prince continues. "I'm fucking cursed, you bastard. I'm _cursed._ I have powers and I can kill people. I can and I will if you don't stop me first." He takes in a breath, a shaky, unsteady breath.

Armin wants to crawl over to him, to hug him, to soothe him, to show him that he did care, but he doesn't. He chooses the best option: nothing. Armin doesn't do anything.

Instead, he talks again. "I can't kill you since you saved my life."

"Of course you can." The prince says, walking over to him and kneeling down. He grabs Armin's hand and yanks it up, fingers tracing a line down his palm until an icicle sits in wait, thick and tapered to a point. "Killing is unproblematic. You can kill someone even if they saved your life, even if they gave you the finest gifts ever, even if they adored you more than anything."

Everything becomes still and Armin looks at him.

The prince is crying.

"Don't you know?" The prince whispers, his voice kicking, turning soft. "It's so, _so_ simple."

:

The prince cries and Armin just stays motionless, still supine on the smooth floor.

The prince had long let go of Armin's hand, leaving him with a cold icicle that melts in his touch. He doesn't provide any support or reassurance. It's not because he doesn't care, it's because he doesn't know how. And because he can't.

"Please, _please_," the prince is quivering, shaking, trembling. Armin hesitates before he reaches out, touching his wrist, and the prince breaks, his sobs echoing through the corridor.

:

Armin leaves.

He doesn't look back.


End file.
